


Flame Sparks

by HSavinien



Series: The Oldest Ones [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Battle, Battle Couple, Developing Relationship, F/F, Language Barrier, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Podfic Available, Pre-Canon, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: They find each other and learn each other. Andromache has never met anyone who fits her like Quỳnh.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Series: The Oldest Ones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910206
Comments: 22
Kudos: 110





	Flame Sparks

She wakes. After Andromache gives her water and dried meat soaked to soften it, she speaks, and Andromache can recognize a few words, but the meaning escapes her. She has only been in the area a few times before - searching for the woman in her dreams - and the language changed since the first time she was here.

She sighs when she sees Andromache’s incomprehension and tries a few words in what Andromache knows as the Red River language. The only one in the sentence she understands is “Who?” 

Andromache shrugs and says, “Andromache. Battle, warrior,” she adds and points at herself. Then she says “Food,” and points at it, just in case that’s helpful.

She looks resigned, waves at herself and says, “Quỳnh. Warrior.” She tries another few words that sing differently in Andromache’s ears, but they still mean nothing to her.

They sit, and regard each other thoughtfully. Both of them could use a wash. Andromache knows she smells of pony, sweat, and the barking deer that she killed and skinned two weeks ago. Quỳnh appears to have died a few times recently, without a chance to clean up afterwards.

"Horse people?" she asks suddenly, looking up. 

Andromache waves her hand in a 'sort of' gesture. 

Quỳnh nods. She has seen Andromache in dreams too, then, since her last horse died of a snake bite three months ago. 

The ground is stony and sere. They need to return to more hospitable climes, unless they wish to go through the grueling process of dying of privation, resurrecting, staggering a few more days, and dying again. She has done that in the past, but did not enjoy it and has no desire to repeat it.

Andromache points in the direction of the forest. She knows where to find water there and there will be more animals for hunting. Quỳnh shrugs and nods and takes her offered hand up.

They walk. They trade words when there’s enough space for breath, until they are able to communicate “rock” and “throw,” “hand” and “foot,” “no” and “what,” “axe” and - with the use of gestures - “bow”, as well as a handful of other words. Andromache does not know whether she’s learning one language or bits of many, but then, she can not really say whether she is using only one language in return. The words have changed so many times that she can only try to keep up. It matters little, if they can come to some understanding together.

When they make camp, Andromache spreads the deerhide on the ground and offers Quỳnh the spot. She regards Andromache for a moment, then settles on it and sets to sparking a fire. Andromache gathers dry turf, carving it out with her knife, and stacks it around the fire. It will not burn nicely, but it will burn. Quỳnh whistles to catch her attention and gestures for the water skin. 

"Water," Andromache agrees and hands it over.

They sleep back to back, sharing warmth under Andromache's cloak and ready for attack from any angle. 

They travel. Andromache kills some more deer when they reach their territory and they tan the skins. Quỳnh claims a skin and slices it into strips, then braids it into rope. They trade the goods at a village on the river, for clothes and a length of seasoned wood for Quỳnh, and she spends a week bending and shaping it into a strong, curved bow. Andromache chips her some arrowheads, once they come to a consensus on size and shape. Quỳnh's sling knocks some birds out of the sky and Andromache roasts them while Quỳnh constructs arrows.

Once she has finished, Quỳnh sets arrow to string and sends it into a distant tree with a vicious  _ fwip _ and her face lights in the brightest grin Andromache has seen from her. "Battle. Ready," she announces. 

Andromache's heart races and she smiles back. This is what she has imagined. 

It does not take them long to find a band of travelers moving fish from the river to more distant settlements. 

Quỳnh talks to them, Andromache following about half the words, and explains they will protect the fisherfolk from danger in exchange for food on the journey. (They could not pay more, but Andromache never minds not having to feed herself.) They agree. 

Sure enough, as the fisherfolk march their baskets through a ravine, a ragged group of bandits attacks. Andromache raises her axe with a shout and they join battle. 

Quỳnh moves like flame, striking down two with her arrows in moments before taking a long blade off one of the downed men and spinning through them like a dance, distracting the attackers and pulling them away from the fisherfolk into Andromache's orbit. The bandits flee before them after a few more fall, leaving them panting and grinning at each other, sharing sparking glances as they clean their weapons and set the travelers to rights. None of the fisherfolk has suffered more than a cut. 

They fight well together. They move well together. 

Andromache stares at Quỳnh, nearly giddy with it, and resolves to find them more battles.

She and Quỳnh travel north and west, into the steppe lands that Andromache knows better, and swear for a season to the son of a warchief that Andromache saved once, a clever man who cares more that his people survive the year than for glory and pillage.

The summer is triumphant. They repel a raiding party before any of the sentries see the danger, slipping out from the walls and into the darkness to come upon them unaware. Bursting into the midst of them, Andromache's battle cry rings vicious joy as she spins, her axe spilling blood like beads of jet in the moonlight. Quỳnh is a shadow biting from the dark until she runs out of arrows, then beside Andromache, her blade like a brand. Warriors fall before them as they move together, weaving death for those who would harm this settlement. 

Quỳnh moves like flame, and Andromache learned to dance through fire long ago. 

When they lean together after the fight ends, wiping themselves clean of the worst of the blood at the stream that feeds the grazing ground, Andromache's blood sings still. She reaches for Quỳnh's hand, brings it to her lips. Quỳnh's panting turns to a breathless peal of laughter and she turns to push Andromache flat on her back. 

"Like this?" she asks, eyes bright in the moonlight. She plants a knee on either side of Andromache's hips, her hands on Andromache's shoulders, holding her down, and Andromache bares her throat and agrees with every fiber of herself. 

If Quỳnh is a dancing flame in battle, she is a forge fire here, melting and reshaping and making Andromache anew. They push clothing and armor aside between them, uncovering skin smooth and unmarred from the battle they just won, marveling at each other's shivers and moans. Andromache allows herself to be overwhelmed. 

Quỳnh's mouth, tongue clever and flickering until it is instead thick and insistent, turns Andromache's bones to molten bronze. She scrabbles at the ground, fingertips scraping and healing in an instant, as Quỳnh's fingers press into her too, stroking and twisting until Andromache shouts, far more unbalanced than she's ever been in battle. Her breath goes higher and faster until all of her clenches into a knot of pleasure, and she falls, mind blanking for a sparkling moment. When she returns to herself, she pulls Quỳnh up, lingering tremble in her hands or not. She kisses Quỳnh, licking her mouth clean of Andromache's slick. 

"Marvel," she tells Quỳnh. "You are a wonder." Quỳnh laughs and spreads her legs, smug and satisfied with herself, and Andromache sets to devouring the treasure she offers. 

Quỳnh likes teeth in her thighs and stomach and smacks her when Andromache touches too lightly, squirming away from the tickle. But they come to a consensus, just as they had with her arrowheads, and Andromache works her open and hot and dripping until she cries out, hands clamping over the back of Andromache's head to hold her still. Andromache twitches her thumb where it is buried inside Quỳnh, to feel her shudder again and gets another smack, but when she rolls Andromache off her, Quỳnh is laughing and pleased. 

She blankets Andromache with her body, hair coming loose and getting in both their faces, and curls up, ordering Andromache, "Sleep."

Andromache pulls their clothes back over top of them the best she can, and drifts off in a haze of wonder and contentment. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Flame Sparks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642836) by [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish)




End file.
